


City Comforts

by Guardian Of The Lotus (DistantStorm)



Series: Fictober 2019 [13]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Definition of home, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 02:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21007949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/Guardian%20Of%20The%20Lotus
Summary: Suraya babbles. Zavala doesn't mind.Written for Day 13 of the Fictober 2019 Challenge on Tumblr: "I never knew it could be like this."





	City Comforts

“I can’t believe I woke up in the City this morning - in a _bed_,” She chatters. “Do you know the last time I woke up in a bed?” She shakes her head. “Went to my job,” Her brows furrow, “Where I _work_.”

Zavala’s eyes spark as he opens the door to his office, offering her entry and following her inside. Hawthorne doesn’t stop marveling at every detail of her day.

“And _coffee_. Real, fresh-brewed, not-from-a-can coffee. I can’t live on tea like Dev can,” She admits, still in that strangely awed voice. “Coffee that doesn’t need to be chewed at the end because you’ve tried to grind it yourself - don’t recommend, by the way.”

The way he regards her is amused. Intrigued. Indulgent, even. It says that she could continue on - which, she’s just realized she’s rambling about the most ridiculous things that normal people are used to... way to go, Suraya, she berates herself - and he’d listen for hours. That’s just how he is. He’d listen to someone recite archived phone records from nineteen-whatever if they were directing their words his way. But now that she knows, her jaw, which is hanging open, closes with a tiny pop and she can’t.

“Go on,” He encourages, plucking her bag from her fingers and setting it on the far side of his desk. He turns back to her, standing comfortably close. “I want to know how you’re adjusting.”

“Fine. Don’t mind me, carrying on. It’s stupid.”

Gun-worn fingers tip her chin up so that their eyes meet. Her skin feels hot, but she doesn’t blush, her pigmentation is too dark for that. “Certainly not.” He tilts his head. “Tell me everything.”

He wants to know about before. Before she answered their people’s call. What created this woman, what forged her, out in the wildlands forgotten by most. He wants to know what that feels like now, that these walls do not cage her, that the City opens herself up and welcomes this frontierswoman home. 

“I just-” They’ve always had a thing, looking into each other’s eyes. Saying one thing and looking at each other in a different way. A deeper way. Perhaps that’s just understanding. A way to transcend words when they fall short. “I never knew it could be like this.”

“What? That you’re here?” He asks. It’s like her mood is contagious, this awe like a tiny ball of fire in his belly, pushing up and out, warm and bright. He leans in closer, scrutinizing her carefully.

“That it feels right,” She admits, so very quietly.

Tentative hands come up to cup his jaw, hard planes against nimble, calloused fingers. Her eyes ask if it’s okay, but her lips are parted, as if to ask something else. Her lips ask for action, but her eyes ask if this is right. If these feelings are right.

She’s not referring to the City. It’s too soon. They both know adjustment will have its ups and downs: what she loves today, she’ll hate tomorrow for fear of becoming too comfortable.

No, she’s asking if this - if they are right. If what she’s thinking she sees staring back at her really, truly is. His eyes sink closed before she gets their answer and his jaw presses against her fingers, pushing back as he presses together their lips. 

This answer isn’t found in eyes, or lips or words. It’s found in hands, slipping down and tangling together. Found in the place where breaths are not, because being breathlessness is a higher truth. In the way their mouths pull apart, the soft skin of lips coming unsealed while hands release only to wrap around each other.

Eventually, the rest will feel right - this City and her place within it, too. But until then, he’s content to show her what this can be, what his version of home can look like, if she wants it. Her idea of home, he knows, isn’t a place. His had always been. It’s different now. They’ve changed each other and been changed in return. 

Now, they meet in the middle.


End file.
